The first range of huts that met my eye after passing the Queen's Hotel was occupied by a battalion of the Rifle Brigade--a fine, well-made class of men, of more than ordinary intelligence: these were at drill, all on the run (double) on the wide sandy plain in front of their huts. In the rear of these huts, and nearer to the north camp railway-station (on the South Eastern line), are a couple of squadrons of the 16th Lancers not long arrived from York, the men in huts, and the horses picketed in sand-pits; and farther on still I could distinguish a party of foot guards, attired in their white flannel jackets, at rifle practice. Lower down, on our way to the south camp and permanent barracks, is the canal with its pontoon bridge, the connecting link between the north and south camps. Away the omnibus trundles along the Farnham road, leaving the aforesaid encampments on our left, until it reaches the Club-house, for the use of officers only, and situate in a fine space of pleasure-ground: it is a prettily designed structure of wood, iron, and glass, painted green and white. Opposite the Club-house we diverge from the main road, and enter the precincts of the south camp, and pass by the innumerable huts, which would be black and sombre enough but for the scarlet uniforms of their inmates, hung here and there while being brushed and pipeclayed, which helps to relieve the everlasting blackness of their asphalte-bedaubed roofs and sides. The first regiment I noticed was the 21st Light Infantry: a smart, well-disciplined corps it is too, hardy-looking, well-built fellows, with plenty of bone and muscle. They wear white facings on their jackets, and have white plumes nodding in their ugly-looking shakos. Passing the 11th regiment, wearing green facings, and the 12th, not long arrived from Australia, where I was told they lost many men, who deserted to the gold diggings, I came to the lines of a militia regiment, their uniform fitting them like sentry-boxes, their forage-caps placed on their heads like inverted quartern measures, and their heads sticking out of their stiff leathern stocks like a cod-fish boiling in a kettle with the head upwards. Why do the militia wear leathern stocks, especially in hot weather?